


Just What The Doctor Ordered

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Castiel, Dean POV, Fingerfucking, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Kink, Playful Sex, Plot What Plot, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-26
Updated: 2010-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-07 14:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean confuses real life with porn again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just What The Doctor Ordered

**Author's Note:**

> Written for spnkink_meme. The prompt was: "For some reason Dean examines/gives a check up to Cas. It can either start with Dean meaning to do a serious check up then get porny or be all porny, I don't care. Cas should be completely naked for the examination. Also, Cas should enjoy it immensely."
> 
> This isn't exactly that, but it's close.

The angel is covered from head to toe with scratches, so it’s perfectly understandable that Dean raises an eyebrow and says, “Let me guess. Demon cat?”

Of course, Castiel takes the suggestion seriously. “Demons can, technically, possess animals, but from what I’ve observed they find the experience uncomfortable and not worth the effort, as body instinct is inherent to—”

“Cas? No.”

Castiel politely closes his mouth. He looks downcast, shoulders slumped even more than usual as he contemplates the floor.

Dean sighs. “Sit down. Have a breather. Sam won’t be back in a while.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel drags himself over to the bed, shoes scuffing the carpet as he goes. He drops on to the mattress in one exhausted swoop, making no effort to act like a normal human being instead of a deadweight rock.

“Tough day at the office, huh?” Dean asks. Cas nods numbly, so Dean sighs a long-suffering sigh. “Why aren’t you healing?”

“I’m tired,” Castiel says. “The barbs were tipped with demon blood so it requires extra effort to heal the wounds; effort I expunged in my escape from the demons. I just wish to rest, for a while, if you don’t mind. Then I will be on my way.”

They seem to be tired all the time now. There’s so much running to and from everything, with only brief bits in between where they try to catch their breath. Those bits in between seem to be getting shorter and shorter.

Sam and Dean are only human. Cas isn’t, so the sight of him staring at his shoes like he holds them personally responsible for his current predicament makes Dean drift over to the bed and sink down next to him. Cas doesn’t even respond. His face is a shadow, eyes distant and unblinking even as the scratches on his cheeks and chin trickle faint lines of red along pale skin.

“Does that _hurt_?” Dean asks, because it sure looks like it does.

Cas looks confused. He brings a hand up to touch the scratches, his fingers coming away smeared with blood. “It stings.” His eyes widen. “Dean, it _stings_.”

“At least it doesn’t hurt,” Dean says. “Why are you—”

“Dean, it _stings_,” Cas repeats, looking at him with wide eyes. “I can _feel_ it.”

“Okay, okay, calm down.” The wounds probably need to be cleaned, the demon blood removed before Cas can get down with his healing self. “I’ll help you out, don’t worry. Just shuck off that jacket, I’ll get the stuff from the bathroom.”

They’re always well-stocked because in their line of work it’s either that or bleed to death on the motel room floor. Dean sorts through Sam’s bag, finding long lengths of cotton, bandages and alcohol. Cas may not need to have his wounds disinfected, but knowing how his angel powers have been declining of late, he could probably use all the help he can get.

When Dean exits the bathroom, the last thing he expects is Cas standing buck naked, clothes folded in a neat pile on the bed.

“Uh,” Dean says. That’s a _lot_ of skin.

He’s not looking down. He’s not looking down. He’s not—

The scratches are thin, dark slashes across his pale skin, most of the deeper cuts high on his chest. Cas’ nipples are dark, a smattering of chest hair between them that quickly disappears into the smooth skin of a slightly-curved stomach, which then leads down to the dark hair above a soft, swaying—

He’s _not looking_.

“You said to take off my clothes, Dean.” Cas sounds too tired to even be confused.

“Right, right,” Dean says quickly. “I guess you better, uh, sit down, get comfortable.”

Cas drops on to the bed again. The little pile of folded clothes tip off the corner of the bed to fall on the floor in a lump, but Cas doesn’t even spare them a glance. Cas doesn’t look up, either, when Dean sits next to him and pulls an arm up for inspection.

Dean starts to ask if Cas wants to have the cuts sanitized, but Cas is swaying a little, eyes fluttering as exhaustion overwhelms him.

“Hey,” Dean says, deciding that Cas getting some rest is more important than Dean’s issues with all that nakedness, “You can lie down if you’re that tired.”

Cas looks at him, blinks a few times, and then lies down.

That answers the question of how tired he is, then.

Dean is quiet as he cleans Cas’ wounds, slow swipes of the cotton moving in careful strokes across the skin. Cas’ eyes are shut in stillness but not sleep, his body slowly relaxing further with every new inch of washed skin. Before Dean’s eyes the cleaned cuts start to heal, skin knitting itself once the tainted blood is removed.

Right arm done, Dean moves to work up Cas’ shoulder.

It’s odd, now, that Dean can study Cas’ face. Usually the angel is busy staring – at him, usually – so Dean has no choice but to stare right back or look away, so there’s rarely any chance to just _look_. But such a chance is here right now, so even as Dean’s fingers move up Cas’ collarbone to his neck and chin and cheeks, his eyes linger on the curve of his eyelashes, the softness of his mouth.

Dean presses a hand to Cas’ forehead. It’s warm to the touch – _too _warm and well into a fever if Cas were human, but Dean doesn’t know how much of that heat is due to his being an angel wrapped inside human skin. “Cas, you’re pretty warm.”

“I don’t know if that’s normal,” Cas admits, not opening his eyes. “I just...” He sighs, the sound is too human.

“It’s okay.” Dean moves to the other side, making good headway on Cas’ other arm and leaving clear, unmarked skin in his wake. He’s just cleaning down Cas’ chest when there’s a sudden, soft sound that he wouldn’t have heard if the motel room weren’t so damn quiet.

“Cas?” Dean says.

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas’ eyes open quickly, but they are turned away as he tries to sit up.

“Cas, calm down, you _are_ allowed to take five, you know,” Dean says, a firm hand pressing against Cas’ chest.

“No, no, it’s...”

Dean stares. How can he not, when the dusty nipples he’s looking at are erect in a way he’s _positive_ they weren’t a moment ago. Cas’ face is still turned away, his body tense and skin slowly flushing right before Dean’s eyes. When Dean leans a little closer, Cas’ _cheeks_ have gone pink with embarrassment, eyes shut tight like he expects Dean to swoop in and do something stupid like laugh.

The only laughable thing right now is how much Dean does _not_ want to laugh.

His touch has done this. __

_He_ has done this.

It seems unbelievable that it would happen right now, like this, in the most innocuous of ways, after having wanted it for so long and convinced himself that it would never _ever_ happen because... well, _because_.

Yet, there it is, and here they are.

Feeling a little lightheaded, Dean drags the fingers still pressed to Cas’ chest in a careful horizontal line. The first touch of a fingertip to a nipple makes that chest shudder, a tight gasp drawn from Cas’ mouth. Dean rolls that fingertip along the little nub, watching it respond and _reach_ until it is hard enough that he can pinch it.

“Oh!” Cas’ eyes are scrunched shut so Dean crowds in closer, close enough that he can bring a hand up and pull Cas’ chin to face him.

“Cas,” Dean says, waiting until Cas’ eyes open before he continues, “You felt that?”

Cas swallows nervously in a learned gesture. “Yes, Dean.”

“I thought you don’t feel the way we do.”

“Perhaps I am becoming more accustomed to my skin than I thought.” Cas doesn’t look upset at the idea. A part of Dean _is_, because he knows what’s in store for them when Cas becomes too comfortable in his human body, but God forgive him, he cannot be _completely_ sorry about it if it means that Cas can feel this – if Cas can _want _this.

For a while they just sit there, turned towards each other and breathing quietly. Cas’ eyes slowly clear when he sees that Dean isn’t working up to a joke. No, there’s no joke here, just Dean pressing in close enough that his nose touches Cas’ cheek, and then a slow tilt of his head brings his lips to the corner of Cas’ mouth.

Their first kiss is slow and hesitant.

“You felt _that_?” Dean asks, still close enough that his mouth brushes over Cas’ with each word.

“Yes, Dean.”

Dean thinks that he’s the luckiest bastard in the world, naked angel practically in his lap and, if the way Cas’ pupils are subtly dilated, warming up to the idea of taking this to a different level. Dean pulls back, ostensibly to start losing some clothes of his own, when he sees the rest of the scratches down Cas’ side and legs.

“Let me get that for you.” Dean turns away to get more cotton wool, and when he turns back, Cas is frowning. Dean ignores the frown and the head tilt, pressing the cool cotton to a spot he’d missed on Cas’ upper arm.

“Dean, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Dean says quickly. “Let me do this for you.”

Cas looks at him for a moment, and then nods slowly. He doesn’t resist when Dean pushes him flat on to his back. This time, when Dean makes the careful sweep along his body, Cas’ eyes are on him, his gaze an almost tangible weight.

Down Cas’ sides, to his waist, his hips, then his legs. There’s only a handful of scratches on his shins, but Dean lifts it on to his lap anyway. When the few scratches are gone, he trails a finger along the underside of Cas’ foot.

The smile is unexpected, like a punch in Dean’s chest. Cas tries to twist his foot away. “Dean, that’s...”

Dean grins back at him, holding fast to the foot. “That’s how it feels to be ticklish.”

“Ah.” Cas tightens his lips together stubbornly when Dean trails his fingers down the sensitive skin again. A second sweep doesn’t elicit a response so Dean moves a third, during which Cas goes above and beyond Dean’s expectations by outright _laughing_, complete with teeth and crinkled eyes, the whole shebang. “Dean, stop, that’s...”

“Fine, say uncle,” Dean says, not caring that he probably has a stupid look on his face right now. There’ll be another time for this – he’ll _make_ more time for this, and bring that smile back long enough that he can bask in it.

Cas is alert but relaxed, successfully distracted from his own exhaustion by watching Dean finish cleaning up the rest of his legs, the cotton dragging through the short leg hair as it moves. Dean tries to be good but he can’t help looking at the soft swell of Cas’ half-hard cock where it rests against his thigh. He looks for maybe a second too long, but when he glances up Cas isn’t blushing or judgmental – just curious to see what he’s going to do next.

But if Dean starts on that _now_, he won’t be able to finish what he’d set out to do.

“Turn over,” Dean says. Cas goes willingly, the movement only a little sluggish, and then there’s a new set of skin for Dean to study.

Not as many scratches on this side, most of them high on Cas’ back around his shoulder blades. He wipes them all clean and then it’s just unmarked skin all the way down. He has permission to touch now, so he does, fitting his hands to the rises and falls of Cas’ back, following the spine all the way down to the angles of his hips.

Dean starts to ask if Cas felt _that_, but Cas pre-empts the question by carefully parting his legs.

It becomes a little hard to breathe.

Dean slips his fingers into the dip between Cas’ ass cheeks, the skin even hotter here and slightly moist from sweat Dean isn’t sure Cas is supposed to have. He feels before he sees the pucker of Cas’ opening, the sides of his fingers finding the wrinkled skin and pressing lightly.

Cas is panting softly. When Dean moves his fingers away Cas moves, raising his ass ever so slightly to find that pressure again.

“You feeling this, huh,” Dean says, bringing the fingers back to stroke gently. “Is it different?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“Good different or a bad different?”

Cas makes a soft sound, almost another laugh. “Good different.”

Dean’s off the bed, rushing to find that bottle of lube he _knows_ is around here somewhere unless that little bitch of his brother threw it out, and if that happened there will be epic hell to pay. But no, it turns out the gods are smiling on Dean today because he finds it in his bag right where he left it, and then he’s skedaddling back to the bed where—

Where Cas has spread his legs, eyes dark with intent as they watch him approach.

“Oh fuck,” Dean breathes.

“Perhaps...” Cas pointedly parts his legs even further, wide enough that someone like, oh, maybe, _Dean_,can fit between them. “Perhaps you should check that everything is in working order. I am not entirely familiar with this body, after all.”

It takes a few seconds before that sinks into Dean’s brain. When it does, he goes, “Fucking_ hell_, Cas.”

Dean quickly settles between Cas’ legs, feeling decidedly overdressed but not wanting to waste another moment in case he spontaneously combusts from the sheer hot of it.

He tries to get his breathing under control as he guides Cas to raise his ass a little, just enough that the angle is better for him to look. Cas’ thighs are wide enough that the skin between is drawn tight, the dips and curves of them tantalizing all the way up to his little opening, which is not so hidden now in the valley between Cas’ cheeks.

Dean can’t quite believe he’s doing this. He can’t believe that he’s pressing fingers gently to the space behind Cas’ balls and then sliding them up over heated flesh until they find the little puckered rim that clenches instinctively at the touch. Dean taps it a few times, mesmerized by the way it responds tentatively, curiously, much like everything else about Cas.

“I’m going to have to, uh,” Dean swallows tightly, “I’m going to have to go in. Just to make sure it’s all... you know.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas says, sounding deliciously breathless. “You know best.”

Dean is very careful with the first touch of a lubed finger to Cas’ opening, rolling his fingertip gently to relax the muscle until it suddenly slips in. Dean is _very seriously_ in risk of coming in his pants when the muscle clenches around that finger, and so it becomes a two-party effort to consciously relax until he can slide further inside. From the first knuckle to the second knuckle to all the way in, and then it’s just heat and tightness around Dean’s finger.

It shouldn’t make tingles of pleasure roll all over _Dean’s_ body just to have his finger buried inside Cas, but it does, and he’s panting almost as hard as Cas is right now.

“So,” Dean says shakily, “I’m inside you now. Are you uncomfortable?”

“I’m not sure, Dean.” He squeezes down a little, familiarizing himself with the intrusion. “There is some discomfort, but it is on the outside, not the inside.”

Sneaky Cas is sneaky. Dean slides his hand under Cas’ body to find a hardening cock, getting a full-body shudder at contact.

“There?” Dean asks, sliding his fingers up the shaft. “Is that where the... _discomfort_ is?”

“Yes, Dean.”

Oh god, he could do this all day. _Cas_ would let him do it all day, Dean just knows he would. He slides his hand out from under Cas, ignoring the soft murmur of protest, and then gets to working on bringing a second finger in to join the first. It gets in stupidly easy, Cas’ body opening for him like it was just _meant_ to do that.

Then it’s just a matter of twisting the fingers to loosen Cas up further, stimulating the inner walls with gentle, teasing rubs back and forth until Cas is starting to push back on to his hand, his soft pants perfectly in time when every push in of Dean’s fingers.

“Okay, Cas, you got to tell me if you feel any pain or whatever,” Dean says. That’s the only warning Cas gets before Dean curls his fingers and _presses_.

Cas doesn’t even stop at the shudder. His back archs sharply, his head tossed back as he lets out the most wanton, _lewd_ sound an angel can make. Cas’ toes dig into the mattress as he tries to find some leverage, ass following Dean’s slow, teasing pull of his fingers away from his prostate.

“Dean...” Cas whines.

“Sorry, Cas,” Dean says through his grin. He strokes a free hand along Cas’ lower back, now shiny with sweat. “I guess that hurt.”

“It _does not _hurt,” Cas snaps. He draws his knees up a little, raising his hips towards Dean and probably having no idea how obscene that looks. “Do it again.”

“Hmm?”

“_Again_, Dean.” Cas turns his head on the pillow, one eye visible and glaring. “You aren’t being clever at all.”

Dean pretends to consider this. “Call me Doctor Sexy.”

Cas blinks. “Would that encourage you to further your explorations inside my body until I achieve orgasm?”

Man, it’s a telling thing that even Cas’ lame attempt at dirty talk still forces Dean to press a hand against his crotch to calm himself down. After Dean finally manages a steady breath he opens his eyes and Cas is looking at him so damn smugly, like he knows exactly the effect he’s having on him.

Dean smirks back and shoves his fingers straight in, the aim perfect. Cas cries out, smug look gone and replaced with an expression of agonized bliss.

Cas is shivering all around him, but Dean keeps his fingers there, still and sure. “So are you going to or not, Cas?”

“Oh.” Cas pants a few times. “Yes, Doctor Sexy. I think I require further examination, Doctor Sexy.”

Dean can’t resist leaning forward to bite one of the soft cheeks, laving a tongue over the skin before drawing back. “Yeah, I’m not sure if that prostate of yours is working right. Let me see...”

Cas is making noises like he’s just stepped out of one of Dean’s wet dreams, moans and gasps alternating in volume and pitch with every careful press and twist of Dean’s fingers inside him. There’s very little resistance around Dean’s fingers now, Cas’ hole only hungry for penetration and shoving back eagerly whenever Dean tries to slow down.

Dean gets a good rhythm quickly, fingertip rubbing relentlessly on the little gland inside Cas. It seems only fair that he brings his other hand into the warm space between Cas’ crotch and the sheets, finding his erection – now hard and leaking – to pull firmly.

“We’re going to have to see if it’s all in working order,” Dean says, throwing Cas’ words back at him.

Cas grunts something, apparently too lost to say something coherent.

Dean pulls his fingers into a tight ring around Cas’ shaft and starts pumping in earnest. Cas goes wild at that, writhing against the sheets as he desperately tries to thrust forward and back at the same time. It gets to a point where the speed of Cas’ shoves overtake Dean’s and he’s setting his own rhythm, fucking himself on Dean’s hands at both ends. Dean tries to keep up, mesmerized as he is by the sight of Cas’ hips snapping desperately like he’s a Heaven-sent porn star custom made just for Dean.

 Suddenly Cas wails, loud and unashamed, wetness spurting out over Dean’s hand. Cas remains frozen like that for a few seconds, back arched and twitching as he rides his climax, hole clenching down tight around Dean’s fingers like they want to squeeze out every inch of pleasure that they can.

Then Cas’ body melts, head falling on the pillow and arms flopping uselessly on either side of him.

Dean pushes his fingers a few more time inside Cas, just to get another shudder and the exhausted twitch of the now-spent cock in his palm.

“That was very good,” Dean says, his voice low and hoarse. He deserves a medal for not shooting his load at the sight of Cas in the throes of orgasm, he really does.

Cas makes a soft sound that could mean anything from _thank you_ to _fuck you_.

The angel is still boneless when Dean slips his fingers out and goes to wash his hands in the bathroom – walking _very carefully_ all the way there and back. Cas still hasn’t moved by the time Dean’s undressed himself and settled into the space next to him on the bed.

Dean clears his throat.

Cas slowly turns his head and looks at Dean.

Dean can’t breathe again, but this time it’s because of the look of lazy happiness on Cas’ face. It’s a very good look on him, Dean decides.

“Thank you, Doctor Sexy,” Cas says, somehow managing to sound solemn and teasing at the same time. “I very much appreciate your efforts.”

Dean slides in close to take Cas’ mouth in a long, lazy kiss. When he pulls away, he says softly, “You can be Doctor Sexy next.”


End file.
